“You gave me something real.” His gaze didn’t waver. “More than I expected. Now it’s my turn. And if you decide you’re done after that, I’ll respect it.”
“No, Eric. I should just finish. I should tell you everything.”
He leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed my cheek. “Hey, beautiful girl, you’re stealing my spotlight.”
I almost laughed despite myself.
“I’m an unemployed thirty-one-year-old man who, until five months ago, had my entire life mapped out.” The way he said it made it clear he wasn’t asking for pity.
“I built that plan myself,” he continued, his jaw tightening. “But every step was calculated to meet the expectations I thought my parents had for me. Corporate accounting at my uncle’s pharmaceutical company, the right apartment in Manhattan, the right connections. I told myself I was in control, that I was choosing my path.”
He dragged a hand through his hair, fingers curling hard at the ends like he needed the pain to keep him present. “But I hated every damn day of it. Manhattan felt like a trap, not an opportunity. I just didn’t let myself think about it until Caleb got sick. Then suddenly all that careful planning felt pointless. I’d been wasting my time. My fucking life.”
His eyes locked on mine.
“So I walked away. Left the job, the apartment, my friends, everything I’d worked for without a backward glance. My uncle still thinks I’m coming back to work. But I’ve already decided—I’m done living someone else’s version of success.”
I pulled back enough to see his face clearly. “There’s nothing shameful about that. You’re an adult who made a choice. I left home at seventeen because I didn’t think I had one.”
“Seventeen?” he repeated, brows lifting. “For real?”
“Yeah. My dad pushed me past the point of no return. He threatened me. He threatened Dylan…” I swallowed hard, fear trying to cut off the words. “And my baby.”
Eric tensed, his breath held and body tight.
“Dylan gave me an ultimatum. And like an idiot, I went to my father for help.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you remember that picture you were looking at? At my dad’s house. The one of the little boy?”
My lips curved despite the tremor in them. My son’s grin flashed through my mind, bright and unstoppable. “That’s my son.”
The shock on Eric’s face cut deep. I’d told myself the omission was harmless. Seeing his reaction proved otherwise.
“Dylan’s his father,” I said, because there was no turning back now. “When I told him I was pregnant, his reaction wasn’t exactly supportive. He made it clear I could keep him or keep the baby. Not both.”
Saying it out loud still hurt. And yet, the more I spoke, the stronger I felt.
“I was terrified. So I went to my dad.” My fingers dug into my jeans. “He called me a whore and hit me. That’s when I packed a bag. Took his car. His credit card. No plan. No goodbye. I just walked out. And I never came back.”
“You have a kid?” Eric’s voice was calm. Too calm. Something dangerous simmered beneath it.
“Yes.” I lifted my chin, even with tears still falling.
“Dylan’s the father.”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“You were a teenager. You stole a car. Left home. And raised a child on your own.”
I nodded. “Mostly.”
The silence that followed was nothing like before. Not peaceful. Not shared. It pressed in, heavy. Eric stared out over the trees, jaw ticking, breath shallow, like he was holding something back.
I couldn’t sit inside it.
I slid out from under his arm and stood. It was a relief to have the truth out in the open. It felt better to be honest. Better to be the real me.
